Scenes From a Coffee Shop (1/1)
by Maycen Dicksen
Summary: A little angsty piece...if ya don't like Gris and Sara, then you'll probably want to avoid this one...


TITLE: Scenes From a Coffee Shop  
  
AUTHOR: Maycen Dicksen (maycendicksen@aol.com)  
  
CATEGORY: Vignette, G/S something  
  
SPOILERS: Too Tough To Die  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. I'd be lying if I said I  
didn't wish I did, though. But the people with all the  
luck include Anthony Zuiker and all of the other CSI  
powers that be. Me? My motto is Drink Coke, Play  
Again. I think that says it all. I don't mean to step  
on anyone's toes with this little story.  
  
NOTES: This is either a standalone or part of a  
series. It all depends on whether people like it or  
not. :)  
------------  
  
If it were anywhere else, the fact that there was a  
waiting list in Denny's at 2 a.m. would seem out of  
place. But, after all, this was Vegas and, as a  
result, the softly lit diner was packed and abuzz with  
conversation. Frazzled-looking waitresses darted in  
and out of tables, trying doing their part to sober up  
the inebriated and keep the casino-goers awake for at  
least another hour or so.   
Dwarfed by the otherwise empty booth, Sara worked  
intently on the paperwork in front of her, looking up  
only briefly while she thought about the next  
question. She stretched her legs out under the table,  
placing her feet on the cushioned seat opposite her.  
She put down her pen and took a moment to simply enjoy  
the feeling of relief in her back.  
She wasn't normally this tired by this time, but  
there was something about this case that just wore her  
out. Maybe it was the climbing, or the amount of time  
she spent on her knees. Or maybe it wasn't the case at  
all. Maybe she was just burned out. She could be  
getting sick. It could be hormones. Whatever it was,  
she needed a nap. A long, dreamless nap.  
God, what a week. What an emotionally-draining,  
physically exhausting week. First, the Pamela Adler  
case. That accounted for 48 hours without sleep. Then,  
there was the Grissom thing, which she had tried her  
damnedest not to think about. Of course, her  
conscience had other plans. Why couldn't she have been  
blessed with verbal ability? She hadn't meant to say  
what she had, but someone upstairs decided to play a  
cruel joke on her by making her say exactly that. And,  
despite her efforts, she felt horrible.  
The simple solution would have been to just let it  
blow over. In a couple of weeks, she would forget she  
ever said that. Then she wouldn't feel the urge to  
duck into the women's restroom when she heard him  
coming down the hall, or to suddenly become interested  
in one of the water-stained ceiling tiles when she was  
forced to be in the same room with him. She didn't  
think he was mad. And she wasn't mad at him. She  
wanted to apologize but she didn't know how to bring  
it up. And it's not exactly as if she was The Great  
Communicator or anything.  
For some reason, avoiding Grissom was not only easier  
said than done, but impossible. They were working the  
same case. Yawning, Sara pushed her hair back behind  
her ears and rested her face on her folded hands and  
closed her eyes.  
Grissom made his way from the back of the diner where  
he'd used the pay phone to check in with the lab.  
Luckily, things had shut down for the evening, so he  
could relax with the knowledge that he wasn't needed  
immediately. All he wanted was something warm to drink  
and a comfortable chair. The worn booths at the  
Denny's weren't exactly his Lazy Boy, but they would  
do. Anything was better than the ground out at Diablo.  
After dodging a child, still wired at this late hour,  
and a waitress, her tray loaded down with several  
Grand Slam variations, he finally arrived back at his  
table. He couldn't help but chuckle softly at what he  
saw. Sara Sidle, her head face down on the table,  
oblivious to the world around her.   
"Hey." He didn't intend to startle her, but it was  
impossible to whisper and be heard in the restaurant.   
Sara jumped a bit before raising her head up and  
squinting up at the offender. Grissom stood at the end  
of the table.  
"Hey."  
"They'll be here in fifteen minutes."  
Sara tried to stifle a yawn as she nodded, but was  
unsuccessful. Grissom made a gesture for her to scoot  
toward the window. Sara stretched her arms above her  
head.  
"What?"  
"Scoot."  
"I like the outside. There's a seat across from me."  
"Fine. Get out and let me in."  
"Why?"  
"Because it'll make it easier when they get here."  
She wanted to argue, but for some reason she just  
didn't have the energy. She really didn't have the  
energy to pull her now-sleeping legs from their  
cushion and stand up long enough for him to scoot  
across the vinyl seat toward the window. Somehow she  
managed and then sat back down, slowly returning her  
feet to their former position.  
Grissom removed his glasses and pulled a napkin from  
the dispenser, focusing his attention on cleaning the  
lenses. Sara reached for her discarded pen and went  
back to work on the paperwork.  
"I ordered you coffee."  
"Thanks."  
"No problem."  
"What are you doing?"  
"Filling out our report."  
"Why not just wait until we get back to the lab?"  
"Because I'd like to go home when we get back."  
Two coffee cups appeared on the table in front of  
them, drops of brown liquid splashing over the brim of  
the mugs. Sara pulled the paperwork away  
instinctively. Chipped magenta fingernails pushed a  
rag over the miniature puddles. Grissom and Sara  
looked up to acknowledge the waitress, a fortyish  
woman whose baggy eyes and jittery hands betrayed the  
fact that she was worn out. Grissom smiled kindly at  
the woman.  
"Thank you."  
"You need anything else?" Grissom looked to Sara, who  
nodded her head no. He did the same.   
The waitress smiled before continuing in her thick  
southern accent, "Okay, well if you do, just holler.  
My name's Sandy."  
"Thank you, Sandy."  
Sara closed the brown folder, clicked her pen and  
placed it on top of the folder. She reached for her  
coffee, taking a sip and determining that it wasn't  
exactly the hottest coffee she'd ever had. She put it  
down and stared at one of the puddles that the  
waitress had missed, pushing it around with her finger  
until it was nothing but a trail of brown droplets.  
"Sugar?" Damn. That was the second time tonight that  
he'd made her jump.  
"Excuse me?"  
What the hell did he just say?  
"Sugar. Sucrose. Would you like some?" She looked up  
to see Grissom holding a white packet in one hand and  
a small pink packet in the other, a confused look on  
his face. "Or is saccharin your thing?"  
"Sugar's fine. Thank you."  
She took the packet and tore it open, pouring the  
granules into her coffee. She watched as they swirled  
in the black liquid and dissolved. For some reason,  
that never ceased to fascinate her.  
"Sara?"  
"Yeah."  
"I got a call today."  
He paused, trying to carefully craft his words before  
continuing.  
"From Thomas Adler."  
It was her turn to pause. Her turn to try to figure  
out what to say without betraying her emotion. She  
finally settled on a high-pitched conversational tone  
of voice.  
"Oh, how is he liking Haven View?"  
"Sara, he wanted me to let you know that Pam died  
yesterday. He wanted me to tell you thank you. They're  
having a service for her Saturday morning."  
She wiped a water spot off of a spoon with a napkin,  
not meeting his eyes.  
"You don't think I should go, do you?"  
"Sara..."  
"I'm sorry....I'm sorry for what I said last week."  
"What?"  
"When I said that you didn't feel anything. That  
wasn't right and, well, I'm sorry."  
"No."  
"I know you have feelings. I didn't mean that the way  
it came out. I only meant..."  
"Why?...Can I ask that?"  
Dammit. Why won't the water spot come off? She could  
wash dishes better than this.  
"Why, what?"  
"Is there a reason you get so emotionally involved?  
Not that there's anything wrong with that."   
Sara nodded her head no. She didn't want to get into  
this right now. But he always knew the right questions  
to ask.  
"Something happened, didn't it?"  
She nodded, affirmatively this time, focusing on  
stirring her coffee.  
"Can I ask what?"  
She figured the best thing to do was just answer it.  
Get it out in the open. As quickly as possible.  
"I was a year into my master's program. My best  
friend was killed. I knew-everyone knew-that her  
boyfriend did it. But the police never solved the  
case."  
Grissom found it hard not to laugh at the speed with  
which she spoke. He knew what that meant, though. She  
didn't want to talk. But the investigator in him  
couldn't help it.  
"And I bet you thought you could do a better job."  
Sara chuckled, half because he knew her so well and  
half because he didn't press for more details. Another  
emotional breakdown on her part was the last thing  
they needed.  
"Would you believe I actually flunked a class?"  
"No."  
Grissom smiled at her over his chipped coffee mug. It  
was contagious. She gave him her own weak smile and  
shrugged.  
"Got kicked out of the program."  
"Sorry to hear that."  
"It's okay. I lost all interest in physics not too  
long after she was killed. Anyway..."  
Sara stared out the murky picture window, trying to  
focus on the lights of the city. Anything to keep her  
emotions at bay.  
"I thought if I could help Pam Adler, then I'd be  
able to let go. I wouldn't feel so useless."  
Damn. Maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe it was all the  
smoke in the restaurant's air. But a small tear  
trickled down her cheek. Grissom slid the silver  
napkin dispenser across the table to her.  
"So, do you?"  
"What?"  
"Feel useless. Because you're not, you know."  
He didn't know what made him do it. But he reached  
over and placed his hand over hers. She rewarded him  
with a small and awkward smile and stared down at  
their pile of hands. His eyes never left her face,  
trying to gauge her reaction.  
"It was your work that allowed Pam to die in peace."  
"Yeah. Thanks."  
She sniffed, yet didn't remove her hand to go for a  
napkin. That was Nick's voice's job.  
"Hey guys. What's going on? Ready for some pancakes?"  
The two pulled their hands reflexively into their  
laps, their innocent smiles turning guilty as they  
stared up at their coworkers.  
"Nothing."  
  
THE END. 


End file.
